It is very appropriate that this site houses the Memorial Brick Walk since Kemper, itself, is steeped in memories. Many young women and, eventually, men, spent countless hours here, attending classes, forging friendships, and discovering their own potential. For me, Kemper holds many memories from two specific sources. The first memories come from the years that Lakeside Players called Kemper its home and we performed in the auditorium. The second set of memories and those most dear to me are from my wedding. My wife, Colleen, and I were married here nine years ago today. Both of those experiences, memorable in themselves, spin off into countless smaller memories of friends, some still here, some no longer with us.
A Nobel laureate was walking across the campus where he taught, deep in thought. A fellow faculty member stopped him for a chat and they had a brief, animated discussion. When they were ready to be on their separate ways, the laureate asked, “Which way was I headed, east or west?” “West,” his colleague replied. “Oh, good,” the laureate responded. “That means I’ve already eaten lunch.” Memory is a tricky thing. People my age like to joke about periods of forgetfulness, so-called “senior moments.” On the other hand, in my work as a Celebrant, I’ve spoken with families whose departed loved ones suffered from Alzheimer’s, and they have described to me the slow, inexorable descent into that lonely state.
Yet, even those who suffer most from Alzheimer’s cling to certain memories. Often they go back to a time, often childhood, in which they feel safe, loved and secure. Their minds miraculously preserve these times for them.
Many people newly-stricken by grief resist their memories. Remembering times when loved ones were still alive churns up powerful emotions and some of us are afraid to deal with such strong feelings. But as we now know, buried memories fester like hidden wounds. Our emotions must find a way to heal.
And so, we create places which spur and encourage memories, and, if we’re lucky, we do so in a place as beautiful as this one is.
An old monk was once asked why he cared for ancient graves, and why he cleaned the stones to preserve the writings carved there. His reply was simple: “They still have their names. They will always have their names.” A life infused with love has consequences that reach beyond time- ensuring that names, and places, and memories of what was still are, and always will be. They are not dead, can never die.
We have a need, as humans, to create monuments and memorials. I know there are selfish reasons to do so, but I think that, for the most part, we have a desire to connect with our past and we need to make that connection in a special place. For most people that place is a cemetery, the earthly resting places of their loved ones, places which take on a sacredness. This deep need to preserve the memory and honor of our loved ones can be found in burials thousands of years old.
But there are other places which were dear to those who have departed, and we often choose these places to honor our dead. Three years ago on a trip to London, Colleen and I spent an afternoon in Kew Gardens, a magnificent place. Scattered throughout the grounds were benches, many with a person’s name followed by birth and death dates. The most poignant bench memorial, however, had two plaques. The first one read: “To the memory of Kathleen Stella Hughes, who loved these gardens, 1913-1982.” The second one read, “George Richard Hughes, 1912-1999, who always sat beside Kathleen.” Three things were immediately apparent to us. The most obvious was that George and Kathleen were very much in love. Bickering couples don’t spend a lot of time together in floral gardens. The second was that for seventeen years George had to content himself with memories of his Kathleen, memories which were tied inextricably to that place, memories which, perhaps, helped him to visualize her sitting beside him once more. The third was that George Richard Hughes wanted the memory of that love to perpetuate. So, now, thousands of people walk by that bench or sit on it and wonder about George and Kathleen and, perhaps, hope that they will or have found a love as enduring.
All that we can know about those who we
have loved and lost is that they would wish
us to remember them with a more intensified
realization of their reality. The highest tribute to the dead is not to grief but gratitude.
Thorton Wilder
Perhaps you have noticed as I have that the holidays become special times for preserving the memories of our loved ones. I know that the first Christmas without Dad or Thanksgiving without Grandma can be painful. We all have shed tears of remembrance more than once. But as we continue to talk about them, the dead almost seem to be with us, just around the corner in the next room or out in the yard taking some air. Our memories take us to the moments that were special in our past. They help us to relive events which have become seminal in our consciousness and those events are all the more vivid in our memories because we have resurrected our loved ones in the only way we know how. There is a portion of us which houses all who came before us. We have only to open our hearts and allow them to once again be with us, not externally, but inside us where they always will remain.
But soon we shall die and memory of us
will have left the earth, and we ourselves
shall be loved for a while and forgotten.
But the love will have been enough; all those
impulses of love return to the love that made
them.
Even memory is not necessary for love.
There is a land of living and a land of the
dead and the bridge is love, the only survival,
the only meaning.
-Thorton Wilder
The Bridge of Sans Luis Rey
Wilder is right in many respects. The memories of all of us will flicker and die eventually, even the memories of the most famous and infamous. And there is a land of the living and a land of the dead with a gulf between them that we get to cross but once. Love, as Wilder writes, is the only bridge between those two worlds which can allow us to metaphorically cross that gulf whenever we choose. Love is the motivation behind the perpetuation of memories. I choose to believe that love is a powerful force in our universe, an energy which, once released, never ceases to exist. So, even after we are gone, after the sun has turned into a flickering cinder and the universe, itself, is grinding to a halt, that love will still exist. We all will move on; the love will always remain as a bond.
To the living I am gone,
To the sorrowful, I will never return,
To the angry, I was cheated.
But to the happy, I am at peace.
And to the faithful, I have never left.
I cannot speak, but I can listen.
I cannot be seen, but I can be heard.
So as you stand upon a shore,
Gazing at a beautiful sea,
Remember Me...
Remember me in your heart, in your
thoughts,
and the memories of the times we love,
the memories of the time we shared.
For if you always think of me,
I will have never gone.
Look at some of the names on the bricks around us. Who were these people? What were their lives like? What and whom did they love? Did they die at peace and fulfilled? As we read and honor their names, these questions are not important. What is important is that someone cared enough for them to memorialize them here. Someone cared enough to say, “This is my mom” or wife or husband or child. These bricks teach us that it is important to preserve the memories of our loved ones. It is important because those memories give us a context for our lives; they reinforce the foundation of society which we call family. And, as we gaze at these names, we are reminded of those we have lost and so we feel a kinship with those who have helped build this memorial. We are not fundamentally different; we are inextricably alike. The ways in which we choose to honor and remember our dead do not differ significantly from culture to culture or religion to religion. We all suffer loss and we all must go on. Let us pray that some day we can go on in peace.
Please join me in a short responsive prayer.
We Remember Them
In the rising of the sun and in its going down,
We remember them
In the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter,
We remember them
In the opening of the buds and in the warmth of summer,
We remember them
In the beginning of the year and when it ends
We remember them
When we are weary and in need of strength
We remember them
When we are lost and sick at heart
We remember them
When we have joys we yearn to share
We remember them
So long as we live, they too shall live, for they are now a part of us as
We remember them.
-From Gates of Prayer Reform
Judaism Prayer Book
Amen
I leave you today with the words of Helen Keller:
What we have once enjoyed, we can never
lose. All that we love deeply becomes a part
of us.
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